Thursday, April 16, 2015

Whenever I hear someone call a woman (or a man) a "dirty whore," they're usually way off the mark. First of all, they're not dirty (you could eat an entire bucket of day-old escargot off their immaculately manicured taints and not even get as much as a head cold). And secondly, they're not whores. Sure, they perform sex acts for money. But everyone does that, and everyone can't be a whore, now can they? Judging by the sly expression on your face, I think you know what I'm going to say next. Well, I just watched Greg Lamberson's Slime City Massacre, the long awaited sequel to his Slime City, a.k.a. one of the greatest horror films of all-time, and it, my friend, is literally stuffed to the gills with dirty whores. It's true, we could sit here all day and debate the merits of the film from a technical point-of-view, but the fact that the whores that populate this post-dirty bomb hellscape were covered in copious amounts of dirt caused my spirit to soar. Of course, some might say Greg Lamberson went a little overboard when it came to the soiling the prostitutes seen throughout this movie. But let's not forget, there's no running water in this universe. They could, I suppose, bathe in that tub of orange goo that used to be the vivacious Debbie Rochon. But, as everyone knows, orange goo dries out your skin. And no-one wants to penetrate a dirty whore with dry, ashy skin (trust me, I know).

Then again, if I saw a pre-orange goo Debbie Rochon walking around Slime City with dirty legs, I would be the first to volunteer to lick them clean.

It should be noted that I'm not implying that Debbie Rochon is a dirty whore. Everyone, whether they be a dirty whore, a fat fuck or an unkempt Debbie Rochon, is covered in filth. Being unclean is normal in this world.

If that's the case, what's up with Alexa (Jennifer Bihl), her gams are spotless?

You could argue that since her character is new to the area, her legs haven't had time to get sufficiently begrimed.

However, as anyone who has seen the film knows, Alexa's mouth-watering stems remain clean from start to finish. Actually, they do turn pink later on in the film. But still, being pink isn't the same as being dirty.

While the solution for dirty legs is good old fashion soap and water (or my tongue), the solution for pink legs, or, in Debbie Rochon's case, orange legs, is good old fashion murder.

Along with her boyfriend, Cory (Kealan Patrick Burke), Alexa thinks they may have found a new home in post-apocalyptic New York City when they stumble upon the ruins of an old apartment complex dubbed "Slime City" by its residents. Little do they know that a Flesh Cult started in the late 1950s by Zachary Devin (Robert C. Saban), a deceptively affable fellow, used to perform rituals and throw wild sex orgies in the building's basement.

Instead of dying, the cult members turn themselves into ectoplasmic slime, which is placed in tubs labeled "Himalayan Yogurt." And when this "yogurt" is ingested along with Zachary Devin's Home Brewed Elixir by non-cult members, the spirit of the dead Flesh Cult member enters their body, which immediately begins to ooze iridescent slime.

In order to placate, or, appease the slime, the slimee must kill. If you listen to the way Cory and Mason are carrying on, that doesn't seem to be a problem, as this dump is crawling with lowlifes to kill. But Alexa isn't all that thrilled with idea of killing people (even if they are lowlifes) to help stave off the melting process.

Welcome to Slime City: Come for the not-so scenic views, stay for the radioactive yogurt.

It's true, while the majority of these side effects might not sound all that pleasant on paper, have you ever had sexual intercourse while experiencing full body moistness? It's quite the scene, man.

Anyway, no wonder...

...Alexa's legs are so...

...silky smooth...

She moisturizes with slime.

Make all the boys cream their chinos and use slime on your legs as a part of your daily beauty regimen.

Seriously, not only do her legs never get dirty, they look like they were bathed in a lavender-scented cesspool.

Exploring the history and the future of the Slime City mythos in a manner that is both entertaining (Debbie Rochon spends the bulk of the movie as a puddle of orange of sludge) and enlightening (I had no idea blow jobs were a thing in 1959... I always had this idea in my head that sex was strictly vaginal back then), Slime City Massacre is a sleazy, grimy, and, most importantly, slimy, treat for the whole family. Okay, maybe not the whole family, but maybe a small subset of your family (your perverted Uncle __ and your deranged Aunt ___ will eat this shit up).

Boasting a cool shout out to Basket Case ("What's in the basket?"), a kick ass opening credits sequence (artwork by Stephen Romano), the return of Mary Huner-Bogle (the leggy enchantress from the original), a great location (an abandoned warehouse in Buffalo), cool props (the book "Flesh Control: The Shape of Pleasure" being my fave), awesome extras (I loved how dirty the hookers looked), kinky sex (Mason fingers Alice's orange puddle at one point), and, of course, a Lloyd Kaufman cameo (Roy Frumkes, writer of Street Trash, has small part as well), I would say that Slime City Massacre does the first film proud and then some.